


Better Offers: Harden Up

by jenni3penny



Series: Better Offers [6]
Category: NCIS
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-06
Updated: 2015-08-22
Packaged: 2018-04-13 05:36:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4509810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jenni3penny/pseuds/jenni3penny
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sixth of 'Better Offers'. Post 'Yankee White' AU. Kibbs. “When they're drilling you it's the call sign for imminent danger. In training those words mean the worst possible scenario is about to take place.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

He'd started a case the day after she'd left and finished it in under seventy two hours. He started another the day after that and finished that in just about the same amount of time. Neither of them took him far enough out of the Metro area to distance him from the vacancy of her presence. Neither case encompassed him enough to really and thoroughly cut the concern for her from the very bittered base of his lungs.

Two days after she'd left, Abby was listing the most prominent tourist attractions in the city of Lisbon from studied memory, forcefully jamming a red pin into the city on the map behind her desk. She didn't stop referencing Portugal until Day Four, maybe Day Five. He'd stopped paying attention, really. Tried to anyhow – because it seemed as though Lisbon was to be a semi-permanent port of call and Abby had an arsenal of trivial cultural trivia.

No movement was reported through MTAC, no sound, no traffic nor reference to her team.

At least, not that he was privy to hearing about.

But then, even McGee couldn't seem to trace back anything but her very first check-in.

His gut was telling him that she probably wasn't going to be gone for all that terrifically long.

(How long did it _really_ take to kill a man?)

His gut was twisting misshapen in a form it hadn't taken on in years.

(If he was the man in question, about as long as she was gone it seemed.)

Day Six said he would no longer find any relief in sleep in any shape or form. Not in the bed that now routinely smelled of her shampooed hair and the sweet of her perfume. Not on the couch with the remote laying across his chest and his arm stretched on the table, fingers toward his coffee mug but really resting on the sketchbook she'd left behind while he stared blankly at the late night replays of a football game. Not even under the ribbed slopes of his boat as he stretched his middled aged and aching back along the center of it and stared at the ceiling, holding the base of his bourbon filled mug balanced against his chest.

Day Seven (had it really only been a week so far?) Snyder surprisingly came back alone on a middle-of-the-night transport out of Lajes Field. The transport had been headed farther west, but they'd stalled long enough at Andrews for him to sleepily roll out into a cab and show up at NCIS with a shiner round his right eye that should have gotten stitches at least two days before. And he hadn't gotten the chance to even speak to the man before he'd just nodded a jaw tight silence between them on his way upstairs.

Day Eight and Snyder'd been in a five hour debriefing with Morrow, representatives from the CIA and Naval Intelligence.

Day Nine and (despite the most wrathful of looks he could muster) he still hadn't gotten the man to spill a word beyond _“She's fine, Gunny.”_.

Well, except _“I swear, Gibbs.”_.

Day Eleven and he'd accidentally broken a part of the boat when he'd, maybe, intentionally pushed it (and himself) too hard. Maybe he'd done it so he had an excuse to curse, loudly, throughout an empty house.

He heard her steps upstairs in the hall on Day Thirteen and he chuckled in silent irony at how lucky the unluckiest of men could actually be.

“Privét, krasavitsa.”

He knew teasing the term at her had been a minor mistake when she'd paused herself still halfway down the steps, both her hands white knuckling the railing as she stared at him from a couple yards of distance. She seemed strangely immobile, her body shored up tight and clean and seemingly perfect from his vantage point. Her clothing was pristine, its usual perfect fit and cut. That long sleeved green shirt he adored and her pants slung low on her hips, gracing her toned curves. Her hair was tied back but prettily so, the ponytail smooth and swept back off her face. She looked no different than she had a little over a week before, really.

Except for how indescribably pale she was. Except for the fact she'd taken off her shoes and jacket oddly at the top of the steps and left them forgotten on the landing.

Except for the fact that it seemed she was unable to move any closer to him as she stared across the room with a look that said she was just as likely to throw up over his railing as McGee probably would have over the side of a trawler.

“Kate?”

“Harden up,” she murmured and he'd had his breathing held just still enough to hear it.

But at least her body had somehow decided to move, something in her had tricked her engine back over and she was breathing rhythmically again as she loosened her fingers from the rail.

He watched one of her small hands pass gently, guardingly, down the rail as her steps went slow and controlled to the bottom of the steps. “What?”

“Secret Service.” She nearly pulled herself still at the base of the stairs but the lift of her head had her matching his glance and he reflexively nodded into it, keeping still as she slowly pressed away from the railing and toward him. “When they're drilling you it's the call sign for imminent danger. In training those words mean the worst possible scenario  is about to take place.”

Her voice was quiet, expectantly so. But it was icily controlled in such a calmed manner, a precise pronunciation to her gentle words that had him simultaneously concerned by the danger of despondency and impressed by her choke hold of control.

“So you fall in. Close ranks.” Gibbs supplied quietly, reaching his hand down to casually lift his mug and aim it toward his chest as she made her way toward him, her eyes focused on his movements rather than the room.

She shrugged but the movement didn't seem to relax her in any way. “You harden up.”

“You ever hear it used after your training?” He kept his voice as quiet as hers, testing her acceptance by reaching out to tug against the ride of her belt.

He exhaled when she nodded in response, letting her hip lean marginally into the touch as she curled fingers against his forearm.

“September 11th?” He watched her nod again in response. “Ever use it yourself?”

“Once.” A huff of near laughter puffed past her lips as she leaned into his hand coasting up along her lower back, tucking her closer. “With you.”

Unconsciously he lifted the still warm cup toward her lips, a shift of a smile tugging on his mouth as she let him tip it so she could take a small sip. “Yeah?”

But she still wasn't necessarily looking at him. He still hadn't gotten to enjoy those brilliant eyes up close.

“And again yesterday.” Her tongue skimmed her bottom lip as he lowered the cup, letting her take it away from him without explanation. “Didn't even realize it until now.”

“With Yates?”

“She's phenomenal, ya know?” She took another supposedly blasé swallow from the cup, a look marring her features that said maybe it had been a mistake before she set it back down into the half built boat frame. “She didn't blink.”

He didn't _want_ to ask. He needed to ask. Or, maybe, _she_ needed him to ask. “Did you?”

Kate finally lifted honesty darkened eyes at him and he felt his ribs gate closed against his lungs. “No.”

Despite how aloof her posture was supposed to be he jerked her close, noting the way her eyes flinched thin at the movement and her lungs shunted still as he palmed against her sides. “Good girl.”

Her face was suddenly dropped rubbing hard into the center of his chest, both hands clenched up into the fabric of his shirt as she mumbled into his chest, “No, I'm not.”

“Katya - ”

“Just don't, okay?” It was a snapped whisper that skipped heat against his throat. “Nothing you say is gonna change... just don't.”

She tugged once, jerking her small palms tighter into his shirt in a way that dragged them up closer while her head dug farther down his chest. “Okay?”

“Yeah, I get it.” Gibbs lifted his hand against the back of her head, wrapping the ponytail into his fingers while he rubbed his lips into her hair on a nod. “Okay.”


	2. Chapter Two

He let her cry for awhile, awkwardly and slightly unsure of what to do besides sinking down into the half made hull. His hands cradled her into the movement with him, letting her head find the curve of his neck to his shoulder as her hands stayed grasped up into fabric.

Crying women had... never been his niche. Crying women had generally been something clearly to be avoided (at _all_ costs).

Crying women tended to echo an ache through his chest that made him think of his daughter and nightmares.

Crying Kate? That was something that made him want to rage and wallow and adore all at once.

_Jesus, fuck... please stop crying. I can't... you're stronger than this._

“Kate,” he slid his fingers up the back of her head as he spoke, used the other hand to tilt her chin up as he turned a look down over her, “he was dead before you left. He was dead when he decided to hurt the men and women you protect.”

_You don't cry – even while we're raging at each other._

“Gibbs - ”

_Ya gotta stop crying._

“Get right with it,” he told her quickly, squinting into the fact she nudged his hand off her face with curled up knuckles and then avoided the pointed brightness of his eyes. “He was already dead. You understand me?”

He watched her look away from him, the back of her hand tucked low into her sleeve as she wiped at her face. Not a sound came off her, though. Not a breath of a noise or a murmur as she shook her head slowly back and forth, her glance cast blankly forward as she seemed to silently argue what he was telling her.

“Didn't matter who did it,” Gibbs told her. “He was already dead. You need to accept that and move on.”

She huffed off his argument, still shaking her head blankly. “But he wasn't.”

“He was walking dead.” He ignored the soft innocence of her sadness, if only long enough to tread on a tone he used when something needed to be unequivocal, understood, when it needed to be fact. “Accept it and move on.”

A reactionary stubbornness still shone in her eyes despite the tears - and at least that was some sort of sign that she was still down in there as she looked at him, his sharp and brassy girl was still ready to scrap with him about the assertion he kept giving.

So good, maybe he could get her to rile and roil back.

He'd poke at her if he needed to, just to bring her back.

He'd grab her up and shake her if he had to, he wasn't shy.

“You did what you had to, Kate.” A hushed grit in his tone, his head shaking minutely. “He didn't care. He wanted to kill and you didn't let him.”

“I didn't want to - ”

“No, but you did.” His tone was intentionally snappish and curt, roughed over her as he dug his fingers farther into the dry warmth of her hair.

He let the ponytail crush up tangled into his fingers as he jerked tighter and forced her head back a margin to drive the point home. A graze of pained betrayal paled her face and he leaned closer over the angle of her head in response, ignoring how angrily she was wide-eyed staring at him. His thumb started flatly rubbing her hair against the side of his hand, holding the warily watchful way she was staring up at him.

“So that he couldn't. Accept that.” Gibbs nodded sharply before the other hand rose, the full flat of his palm pressing a coolness to her cheek as she just kept watching the movement of his lips. “He was already dead. You just put him in the ground.”

She frowned as she drove her face back toward his shoulder, a rush of breath heating on his shirt.

 

* * *

 

 

She felt, self consciously, childish and ridiculously weak - not to mention a little exhausted and wrung out. She felt more like someone he'd taken sympathy on, someone who had needed more than the strength they had on their own two feet. And especially considering that more half an hour later he hadn't let her up from the way he'd curled her down into his lap and cradled his spine back into the half finished hull. He'd secluded them closely together, hushed and curled in the half made silence of his hand made refuge.

Despite the continued gentleness of his hands and their resumed quietude, she felt less like a lover and more like a rescue, a mission he'd been handed, a job he'd needed to get done – possibly even the victim of his casework. Hell, was 'lover' even the appropriate phraseology anyhow? She was almost as loathe to use that as she was 'girlfriend'. It seemed too... sophomoric for him. Too young. Too overly dramatic.

In any case, she felt less like a woman and more like a protection detail.

One that couldn't seem to stop crying, despite the fact she'd probably already embarrassingly gotten snot on his thinly worn NIS tee.

_Get your shit together, Todd. Jesus._

_You're terrifying the man deeper into silence than usual... he'll be rendered completely mute by the time you figure yourself out._

“Not quite how you expected to get me into this boat again.” It came up her throat on a slightly hysterical laugh, the sound lifting off her lips before she tucked her sleeve around her hand and wiped at already raw cheeks.

“How doesn't matter, Caitlin.” So casually clear in his shrugging tone, so matter of factual and accepting. “You're in it. You're home.”

“You've gotta stop saying it that way.”

“What?” his voice teased lower into a lighter hush. “Home?”

Her throat rolled out a quietly agreeing noise, her nose rubbing into the side of his neck as she snugged closer and tighter and farther avoided looking directly at him.

_God, he's warm. And solid and sturdy and big._

“Why should I?” He sounded stubborn, mulish and pig-headed and perfect in the disbelief of his response. Just how contrary and absolutely _Gibbs_ it sounded was more of a home than she figured she was momentarily worthy of keeping. “It is home.”

_Home smells like soap and sawdust and coffee and bourbon._

Charmed embarrassment brushed heat on her cheeks and they felt gentler and less raw for a moment, head tipping into the fact he was still twisting her hair in his fingers.

“Jethro.”

_Home smells like you. I don't know why that's so unarguably true._

“It _is_ home, Kate.” He was threading up beneath the loose hold of her hair tie and she let him continue, felt the tug of his long fingers sliding it from the strands of her hair before both hands lifted into intentionally loosening it. “Thought I'd shown you that. Look.”

He shook her hair out over his fingers and down against her shoulders, confiscating the tie so that she couldn't use it again even as he nodded across the room. The tip of his head aimed her glance toward the right of the work bench, a slight flex in his jaw as he urged her to search the room that she'd yet to really take in. She'd been comforted by the reality of just being in the basement, clouded by the familiar smell of it and closed up by its secluded safety. She hadn't needed to study the room to know that she was in a place that would, at least momentarily, make her untouchable. And the way he was silking her hair down her back solidified the feeling as she entirely turned her glance over the table he'd been motioning toward.

She took in the drawing table silently, biting into her lip to keep from making a sound as she studied the angle of the clip bearing board, the way it was a perfect sliding fit to the sturdiness of the rest of the flat top table. The split top, the storage drawers beneath and the small ledged shelf along the bottom, they all seemed to meld into something unexpectedly amazing to her. A sliding drawer was visible beneath the table top and a straight backed stool fit into the way it was happily waiting to be used. It was nudged up into the wall and near enough to the bench to be close, but far enough to be solitary. Jesus, there were even slats running the opposite side from the drawers, open spaces that she didn't doubt he'd meant for her sketchbooks.

She quietly studied the smooth sanded warmth of it as her fingers unconsciously rubbed along her lips, enjoyed the pretty polished tone of the wood and the way it seemed to nearly glow under the yellowed light that cast over half the basement. It was a deep russet color and the varnish had a shimmer in the light that seemed too near a mirage to be true. It was too close to more than perfect to really _actually_ exist. She didn't dare touch it, or move closer.

It was an impossibility.

Maybe so was he.

Unconsciously she leaned back into how flatly sturdy his palm had spread against her spine and a small noise took over her throat, a sound that was appreciatively humbled as her body sank back against his. “That for me?”

It had to be, obviously. He'd told her about it, sleepily let it slip before. He'd kept it hidden in unfit pieces under a slate gray and thin sheet before she'd left and once he'd caught her nearly peeking a glimpse under it. And he'd growled into grabbing around her waist and playfully swinging her up away from it. The sway of movement and drag of her reflexively gripping fingers had nearly jerked the sheet off the unfinished parts of it but he hadn't cared so much when he'd raised the growl up along the laughing rise of her jaw and his fingers had found the ticklish spot just below her last right rib.

He'd made her half forget it had even been there, still drawing gasping laughter off her lungs as he'd grunted astonishment and loosened from her when she'd elbowed right hard into his stomach. Then he'd flared her the sharpest challenge of a wicked grin, scrabbling right up the stairs after her, catching her somewhere around the couch and laying her out along the living room floor while he'd swallowed each new laugh from her mouth.

She'd left the next day.

_Feels like months ago..._

“You know it is,” his voice was dryly patient in response, though a little crisp as he turned his head toward the way she was staring across the room.

_I know a great many things... but I couldn't imagine this._

Kate sighed as she stared at the drafting table, her shoulders swinging loose and lower as her hands nervously twisted into the sleeve fabric of her shirt and she unconsciously rubbed her wrists together. “You'll never get that out that door.”

He cocked her such a dryly sardonic look before making a show of glancing at the boat that was half enclosing them into some sort of safety, glancing back to her with a trademark grin. “I have ways.”

“You need a linen cabinet for the bathroom.” The innocently wide face she swung up at him was still rashed from crying and she could feel how brittle her skin felt, sensitive below her eyes and probably shadowed. She'd be puffy in the morning, that was a given. “Shoulda saved the lumber for that.”

He blinked at her as though she was saying something unendingly ridiculous, as though he couldn't cleanly comprehend why she wasn't already at the seat, hands pressing against the smooth wood.

_Because you may realize that this is... not what you actually want._

_Especially when I end up sobbing in your lap like a little kid after a nightmare._

One brow went up and blue eyes sparked. “I need one or you need one?”

“At least a towel rack.” Kate shrugged blithely away from him and back toward the table, keeping her tone as neutral as possible considering he was capable of twisting her lungs into her throat.

“Katya,” he said it with nearly a laugh. “I need one?”

“I need one, I guess.”

He hummed an all too knowledgeable noise up his throat, made it sound simplistically sexy. “Or?”

_We need one._

God, he was looking at her like he'd momentarily read her mind (again), charmed and pleased and entirely full of himself. Smug son of a bitch. Beautifully smug, so perfectly so, comfortably so.

She felt the blush completely warm her cheeks, the urge to look away from how sparkling amused his eyes went at her expense sudden and involuntary. “You made that for me? Down here?”

His smile wended affectionate and she suspected even... loving, his fingers turning her hair back from her face. “I work at the bench, Kate. Or right here. You know that.”

“You're not getting it up the stairs.” She shook her head closer to the twist of his fingers, her cheek bending into the way he intently studied the leftover redness on her skin as he stroked against it. “I'll annoy you if I'm down here all the time.”

At first he dipped her a thoughtful nod, as though it was a certain truth. Which, really, at times, it would be. She knew that. He was possessed by his own need to be alone sometimes, to just work his frustration out. Thankfully she tended to recognize when, though. Thankfully, she didn't much blame him. His need to put his hands to work felt awfully similar to the salvation of just putting a pencil to paper.

Then he laughed and just shrugged on a smirk, dropped his hand with broad shoulders swaying back as he stretched his spine into one of the ribs of the boat. “I like watching you draw.”

“I like watching you work.” Kate tugged against the thin fabric of his shirt, feeling awkwardly warm and flushed by an emotion she was having trouble naming (rather, that she refused to recognize) when he was just half smirking at her, eyes thinned but brightly amused.

He caught against her fingers and squeezed briefly. “So if we're fighting stay on your own goddamn side, Secret Service.”


	3. Chapter Three

He hadn't pushed for anything.

Hadn't leaned too far or too close, just near enough to let her reach for him.

And part of her was dumbed astonished by the fact that he could so easily read her need to have him in her line of sight without necessarily wanting a snuggle fest. Not that he was the overly snuggling type – not in the least. However, he did tend to touch her more than she would have expected months before, when they'd met. He did keep her closely pressed and especially so when they were alone. He did tend to use his hands as a tether when words failed him - or, at least, when he assumed words failed him.

Which was an absolutely ridiculous assumption on his part.

He had a way of speaking the volumes of a library with just his eyes if he wanted to imply importance. His notion that he was poor at communication, no doubt, stemmed from the fact that he was often impatient or gruff and that people reacted poorly to his often tactless need to be concise, clear. Ducky had been both correct and incorrect at once.

He had communication issues – but only in the sense that he had more trouble communicating with himself than with others.

Although, he _was_ awfully impatient sometimes. But he was being infinitely patient with her.

He was beautiful with words, really. Especially when he chose not to even use them at all.

“Can we turn it?” Kate leaned into the counter tentatively, her tone quieted as she tested touching against the bottom hem of the ragged t-shirt, hooking her fingers onto it as he watched the can of soup he'd poured into a pot do nothing but stare back at him.

Confusion mottled his features before he turned a glance aside, meeting the dark of her eyes. “What?”

She loosened from the fabric and stretched her hand up under the shirt, palm pressing against the solid side of him so that she could just finally breathe deeply. “I can't see you with it against the wall like that.”

She already knew he was at her back most all the time - she wanted to see the nearness of him. Visual conformation that he really was as close as he suddenly seemed to be.

“Face the bench?” He offered as he glared back to the pot, as though he was mentally urging it warm faster. “Sure.”

“I'm not that hungry, Jethro.” She sloped her fingers against his stomach, feeling him clench under her touch as she curled into the side of him and let her cheek rub against his upper arm.

“When's the last time you ate?”

“Yesterday.”She traced her nails against skin and unconsciously smiled into how his stomach tensed under the movement, how his body went rigid as she passed her hand lower.

“Then I don't wanna hear it, Todd.” Regardless of the fact she knew exactly how to tease his right thigh with just _that much_ pressure, he still managed to use a tone of voice that came off gruff and rough and all business related. “Food is energy. You need to maintain.”

“Sir, yes, sir,” Kate swept her fingers higher, stroked slowly over him and let her lips kiss words on the back of his neck as she cupped against his length, feeling the hot and pressing twitch of it under the spread of her hand as she breathed out. “Gunnery Sergeant Gibbs.”

“Caitlin,” her name hissed off his lips like he had no other suitable word for her in his languages, his hand soothing flat over hers as he groaned and pressed her palm still. The minute thrust he made against her fingers was probably more reactionary than point making but she appreciated how full her hand felt between his legs as he groaned.

“You need to eat,” he grumbled as he dragged her fingers up the erection she'd started, intentionally grazing her hand hard against it before he drew her palm back flat to his stomach and pressed it still.

“I... I don't know how to tell you how much that means to me.” Seemed she was having a truckload of trouble with language on her own – he wasn't alone. “Nobody's ever done something like that for me. I don't know how to say that, though. How to - ”

“Ya just did.” His interruption was an intentional save, provided with a smile that she could hear through his words.

“You love me.” She was surprised by how easy the conclusion was to voice, especially considering how difficult she found it to admit that she was way too deep in _something_ with him. “At least a little bit.”

“Thought I'd shown you that.”

The repetition of his earlier words, so softly blank but unbreakably true in the middle of his kitchen...

Language was pretty much useless anyhow. Communication was overrated when he was him and she'd likely be a puddle on the floor if she wasn't so tautly trapped around the middle of him.

So she settled for kissing against his shoulder blade, rubbing her face into the shirt that smelled like him and home and _damn you for this, I can't stop it_. “You know I don't eat tomato soup without grilled cheese.”

“What d'you want from me, woman? Jesus.” The humor in his tone said he appreciated the joking break from having too serious of a conversation when he was barefoot and leaning over soup with half a hard on. “I make you furniture.”

A shrug lifted her shoulders that made her feel and seem and probably look too young to be anywhere near how stalwart he invariably was. “Come to Mass with me in the morning?”

Gibbs just banked her a disbelieving glance over his shoulder, guarding in the way he tipped his head. “Katya.”

“I just need to,” she shrugged it off again, unable to make any other movement, “accept it in my own way.”

“You need to confess,” he murmured.

She couldn't help but nod into the veracity of his statement, the very fact he knew her well enough that he said it like he'd seen it coming. “I need to confess.”

“Y'don't need to confess a damn thing to me, Kate.” A wry and quiet laugh choked off his throat as he shook his head. “I'm twice the murderer you think you are.”

“I don't believe that,” Kate murmured softly into the kitchen as he turned back over the pot, his back broad as he obviously avoided meeting her eyes.

“Then you're in denial, sweetheart.”

She flinched him a glare, regardless of the fact he couldn't see it.

She had the idea he knew it was written over her face, though.

Had the notion that the almost snide placation had been a nudge to get her shoulders straightened again.

“Yeah, well...” the unsteady sway of her voice had him turning his entire body around, shifting to lean to the counter, “that happens when you're... ya know.”

_It happens when you're ass over tits in love with someone, you simple bastard._

_I'm trying to... aw, hell. This is impossible. You're impossible._

“Yeah,” the unchecked grin he gave her was worth more than furniture if she had to prioritize the unspoken gifts of his making. “Guess it does.”

“You're making me soup at two in the morning,” she playfully accused, lifting her jaw into it just to draw out the grin and make it last longer.

“And you're gonna eat it,” he answered lazily as he watched her draw closer. “Without complaint.”

His hand met the lean of her body toward his, continued the circle he made around her waist with both arms as she pressed up his chest and her nose wrinkled a little in teasing. “But with a sandwich.”

“Go change. Wash your face.” The kiss he laid against her lips was soft and treaded more nervously than she'd expected, even as his voice shushed affectionate and he raised his lips to kiss her forehead too. “You look like hell.”

“Such a charmer, Gibbs.” Kate rolled her eyes into pinching along his ribs, untangling from the seemingly comfortable way he'd laced her up against his hips. “No wonder they all divorce you.”

He wordlessly but soundly smacked her ass on her way in retaliation and she finally let herself breathe as she laughed and glared at him at once.

 

* * *

 

 

She hadn't slept well. At least, not in comparison to how she usually tucked along his ribs and curved on him. She'd slapped at him at one point in the night, when he'd tried to lull the shifting of her body and the sudden rigidity of beautifully toned muscles. To her credit, when she'd woken to her wrists being clamped by his sure hands, she'd just startled still, stayed quiet, stared blankly at him before loosening her fingers still.

And he'd watched the way she stared at him, rubbing his thumbs against her wrists as he'd waited out her indecisive confusion.

Wasn't like he hadn't dreamed the nightmare she'd been having a hundred or so times before.

Wasn't like he wasn't familiar with the gut low feeling of this particular brand of self hatred.

“Stop,” he whispered quietly but with more authority than he normally would have, saw how it flared her eyes wider in both stubbornness and anger. “No more, Kate.”

It took a moment for her arms to entirely lax loosened into his hands and when he felt her relax into the order he'd made of his words he dragged them up, drawing her against his chest so that she could curl on him.


	4. Chapter Four

Neither of them had slept after that, not really. Fits and half dream mumbles and at one point he'd groaned his face as far as he could into her hair because she'd simply fiddled her fingers against the hem of his boxers for awhile. Rubbing along the elastic as though it was something she could worry against instead of her own stacked up thoughts, her knuckles brushing his stomach and making his skin tense up under each stroke. He groaned and when she looked up to find the sound his face was tensed, eyes squeezed shut as he clenched his hand into the center of his chest. She'd rubbed a silent smile on his bare shoulder at the sound and then slid fingers underneath the fabric, wordlessly lifting her head into his as she rubbed down into the trail of pubic hair and kissed along his jaw.

“Katya - ”

“Nobody's ever done something like that for me before.” She interrupted the low groaning of his voice, keeping her words soft and warm as she teased along the base of his length.

One of his hands was digging up into her hair, opening and closing to a slowly made rhythm that found his fingers entangled. “I find that hard to believe.”

“Believe it.” Sweetness filled up the newer brightness of her eyes and he saw the return of a lighter color to how widely pretty they were as she smiled at him. “You take the prize, Gunny.”

“Yeah?” He drove his hips closer to the teasing heat of her palm, groaned again as she closed her fingers around him. “What do I win?”

“Incorrigible,” she accused quietly, still rubbing her lips along his jaw as she stroked gently.

Gibbs swallowed as well as he could considering his throat had choked up on him. “Hard, actually.”

“I can tell.” Her fingers squeezed and he jerked a little into the feel of her nails nearly nicking him. “I don't need narration, Jethro.”

“Really hard, Kate. Jesus.”

“Mmmm.” A self satisfied sound culled low in her throat, a sound that was even a surprise to her before she tipped her lips just in front of his ear. “Harden up, Marine.”

He felt the laugh burst off his lips before he could bite it back, nuzzling his face into her hair and the warm breathiness of her teasing as he curled toward her. Gibbs tucked her closer so that they were facing each other, making a sound off his throat as she moved more comfortably into his leaning and let him wrap her up into the front of him. She let his mouth turn against her lips, his tongue slicking hers as his hands closed tighter against her, brought her closer into his chest and hips. He cocked his knee against her thigh, trapping her hand up between his legs as she kept lightly touching and stroking and squeezing around him.

He hadn't complained when she'd just changed into the t-shirt he'd discarded.

Now it seemed to annoy him, though, his frown tipping down the front of her.

“What do I win, Katie?” He was plucking against the fabric of the t-shirt she'd stolen, stroking a hand up under it so he could find one of her nipples and add a swift tug to his mischievous tone.

Kate tugged lightly in retaliation, watching the wincing thinning of his eyes as she tightened her fingers and arched into the full spread of his palm. “What'd I tell you about not being your reward?”

“That was months ago.” He was all contrary and haughty and teasing as she pressed back against him again, shoving him onto his back as she watched his humor trace his lips. “Before I wooed you with furniture.”

She just banked him a dry glance, rolling her eyes when he smirked in response and let his head rest into his pillow. He looked so... simply happy, pleased and comfortable and... content. It was a bit unnerving, surprising, but in a way that flushed the entire stretch of her a shade pinker. And he looked even more gratified as he sighed and shifted up the hem of his pilfered shirt, finding a way to rub and languidly stroke one of her breasts even as she sank lower down him. His fingers tweaked her nipple before he just grinned wider and palmed her breast into his hand.

“You are very hard,” Kate murmured perfunctorily over him.

She purposefully loosened her fingers from his erection, dragging her breasts down between his legs so that he was gritting his jaw against groaning as he intentionally brushed the tip of his length up her stomach and then worked it back and forth between her breasts. A shudder of pleasure racked his hips and she felt wetness against her skin as the shirt got crumpled higher against her back, one of his hands jerking it up and holding it as the other kept circling the tip of his cock against an already seriously sensitive nipple. The man had a significant love for her breasts (not that she'd complain about his appreciation when he had such attentive hands). And her ass. And he seemed to be a pretty big fan of her legs, too. She reflexively smiled into his pleasure and looked over his face.

He looked so slack jawed beautiful, head tipped back and eyes shut as he unconsciously thrust between her breasts and growled a noise off his throat.

“How's it feel?” she whispered between them.

Gibbs opened one eye and cocked her a low lashed sardonic look, one that said he wasn't going to be trapped up as she drew away from him long enough to snug between his legs, avoiding the fact he'd aimed to pull the shirt off her. “Y'just told me not to narrate.”

“How's it feel now?” she repeated softly, letting her lips curve on a true smile. “Knowing how much I love you?”

“Kate.” The exhalation of her name sounded like he found it to be the only word he knew he could use correctly, like it was a Rosetta and she didn't need any other words to understand how softly he said it.

She grinned into the sound of it, smiling warm kisses down his stomach as she shifted lower. “Just wondering.”

“Feels like I don't deserve you.”

_Oh, shut the hell up. You just made me something... perfect._

“Not really, no.” She was rubbing teasing lips along his pelvis, his hip, nearer the side of his thigh. “You, Agent Gibbs, have a fantastic ass.”

He chuckled quietly into the ghosting brush of her words and the way she was nibbling against his hip, rubbing his fingertips on her shoulder as she chastely kissed farther around his side. “My ass is not the part that's interested in you right now, Todd.”

“Well, that part's pretty damn fantastic too.” She grazed against him, lifting her head to find him smiling in his watching, his other hand making lazily slow strokes on his length as he enjoyed her playfulness.

Bemused surprise brightened up his eyes as he watched her turn her head. “Yeah?”

“Mmmm.” Her kisses raked his knuckles as he kept the slow rhythm he'd started, the sound she'd made so appreciatively possessive as she pulled his hand away and replaced it with her own. “I think I'll keep it.”

She didn't think he seemed to mind the assertion considering he reflexively jerked harder into her hand.

“That okay with you?” He made a grunted noise that was neither agreement nor much else, just a choked up sound - and she couldn't help but laugh into the fact he'd momentarily lost any form of speech. “Jethro?”

Another groan reverberated off his lungs and his clenched fist thumped into the mattress at his side, a sharp swallow grinding down his throat before his eyes met hers, one quick blink between them as he nodded unspoken agreement. She smiled into how intensely he stared at her, letting her lashes lower a little before she swirled her tongue along the tip of his cock and sank her mouth down into the echoed sound of him moaning.

She felt his legs sink as she focused her attention, raked her nails lightly on his thigh and couldn't help smirking into how comfortably he opened up under her mouth and hands as he just stretched groaning into his own mattress. So she kept slow and soft at first, felt his appreciation in the way he dropped one hand to wipe her hair back. She wasn't sure if he was watching as she worked her mouth up and down the length of him – at least not until she heard the massive breath of a groan relax from his lungs, his fingers catching her hair up from away from her face.

“So beautiful. I don't deserve you.”

She licked her mouth off him slowly, “Why don't you let me be the judge of that, huh?”

“Kate.” He stroked his fingers into her hair and she could help but smile at the digging of his palm, the way he stretched into the need to jerk her closer and guarded his force at once. “Please?”

She wasn't entirely sure what he was asking for.

She didn't even think _he_ was entirely sure what he was asking for.

“Please what?” She laughed through the words, catching the way he whined a little at the brief glimpse of her dimples before he drove his head fully back into his pillow. “What do you need?”

“You.” He very clearly pouted it into the room, petulant and eyes closed.

“I'm right here.”

A grunt responded to the taunting of her voice, his hips jerking into her hand taking another teasing stroke up and down him, repeating the motion. “More.”

Kate grinned at how flushed up and near embarrassed he seemed, suddenly so innocently shy as one of his hands scrubbed against his face and he twitched under her tightening fingers. “Being cryptic gets you nothing, Gunny.”

“Mouth.” Despite the snappish quality to his voice his fingers were forcefully gentle as he pried her jaw low again, drawing her lips closer to his length. “Now.”

_Damn. Yes, Sir._

She purred an appreciative sound into his directness, sloping her tongue back up the length of his cock, enjoying the tightness in his muscles as his thighs clenched up. One hand sloped up under the twitched rise of his hips and she rubbed against his ass, squeezing there as the other hand wrapped tightly on the base of his length. She closed her mouth down around him again, sucking hard as the taste and smell of him closed around her.

“Jesus, Kate.” His voice tended to wrap up on her name, enclose it in heat. “More.”

She absolutely knew the sounds he made when they were skin on skin. Who was she kidding? She _loved_ the sounds he made. The fact that she was obviously wet and rubbing into his calf was proof of that. But he was so softly groaning this time, almost more weakly moaning as she kept working her mouth over him.

She knew how to tease him, knew what would make his hips jut up into the way she worked her tongue and lips and fingers up and down him. He couldn't keep himself still if she slowly drew her mouth to the very tip and sucked lightly, long and slow. She could taste him against her tongue, feel the slick difference between her saliva and what was obviously him tipping closer. Her palm closed tighter, leading a shivered sound out of his lungs as she kept her lips and tongue grazing on him.

She lifted her head and licked against his length, fingers massaging muscle as he let off a growl.

He couldn't not watch her either. And that made her smile as she sucked again, slowly swallowing down on him.

“Kate.” He roughed a breath through his nose, hand catching into her hair and tugging. “Stop.”

_I know for a fact you can last longer than that._

“Gotta stop.” His hands on her head were forcing her attention higher, forcing her to see that he couldn't manage a swallow all that well as he pulled at her.

“You were so close,” a little sadness threaded into her tone as she rose into his pulling. “Why - ”

“Get up here.”

She'd known he would kiss her. He liked tasting her and especially when she tasted like him. And that was no problem at all, not in the least. Because he made those kisses seem like they'd last forever, like he was silently assuring that the combination of the both of them on her tongue was the only thing he wanted to taste until ever and ever ended. He found a way to slick his tongue along hers and still make the roughness of his fervor soft, nibbling along her bottom lip in a fashion that had her laughing even as his hands closed down around her and found purchase along her ribs.

He rubbed his smirk into her lips, “Turn around.”

“Gibbs - ”

“Just do,” his voice went staccato and hot against the shell of her ear, “what I tell you to do.”

_Oh, hell, Gunnery Sergeant Tone. Hardass Marine Tone. Agent Gibbs in Interrogation Tone._

She let his palms lead the turn of her body, keeping her head angled over her shoulder to track him as he curled her around. Kate moved to reach for him again, hand lifting quickly when he batted her fingers away and roughed her into his lap. She sighed moaning into his arm catching around her waist, the other hand lowering between them as he jerked her closer and sank her abruptly down onto him. The flat of his palm pressing the back of her thigh and spreading her leg out farther as she winced into taking as much as she could into her body.

He was hushing along her ear and through her hair, making a tenderly soft sound against the side of her head as he purposefully closed his arm tighter against her and snugged her down closer. His free hand went around her, the full force of his hand spreading one of her thighs wider as he leaned her forward by the press of his chest and let her sink lower into his holding. He thrust into the angle, driving deeper into her and lifting his jaw against the side of her head as she whimpered out a pained surprise of a sound.

His lungs ratcheted out a rough exhalation against her shoulder blade, teeth nipping the tensed muscle as he stilled them a moment, letting her shift and adjust to how deeply he'd managed to stroke into her. “Okay?”

_Oh, god, more than. This is way more than 'okay'._

She sighed her trust into the quiet questioning of his voice, how carefully placed the word was. “Mmm hmm.”

“You like that?” And she could damn sure hear the smug smile in his voice as he rubbed the words down her neck.

_How could I not?_

“Mmmmm.”

“How's it feel?” He teased the words gruffly against the side of her neck, the repetition of her earlier taunting making her shiver.

“Full.” Kate turned her head into the nuzzling of his, felt his smile rise along her cheek. “Safe. Like home.”

A full bodied groaning came off him as he turned his mouth to tease on her ear, a shudder taking him over as she snuggled down tighter onto him.

“I've got ya.” The full strength of one arm bridged up the center of her body, lined along her sternum as she smiled into his palm curling loosely along her throat. “You're not going anywhere.”

She charmed a half laugh into the air as she leaned into the solid strength of it, whimpering as his other hand found its way back between her legs and his fingers slid wet against her clit, “You asking or telling me, Gunny?”

“Both.” He hummed it blithely along her shoulder, kisses dropped there as he lifted his hips into movement, urged her along. “I want you here.”

“You mean to stay?”

“I mean,” he kissed the words onto her jaw, lifting his head as his fingers circled her clit, “come home to me, Kate.”

_You win._

“I do.” She argued into impatience, pressing closer to his hand as he roughed his hips up, driving her into a quicker rhythm.

“You know what I mean.” And he bit his intention into her shoulder, teeth digging harder than she'd expected, prying another moan off her as her spine arched and his fingers rubbed her throat, his other hand working harder between her legs.

She curved her face into the twist of his hand, both palms rising to hold on his forearm as he raked his teeth on skin. “I do.”

 

* * *

 

 

_“You could just tell her.”_

No, he couldn't. Not as easily as the voice in his head would imply.

_“You could just open your mouth and say it like a normal human being, Gibbs.”_

No, he couldn't. Not when it was Shannon's voice in his head telling him to confess to more than murder or more than love. More than an entire lifetime he'd yet to let her in on. More than retribution and redemption and, Jesus Christ... he'd killed a man in cold blood, he'd been the murderer – not her.

_“She'd understand. She loves you. She'd forgive you.”_

The fantasy phantom of his dead wife knew more about his current relationship than he did.

(Well, she always had been smarter than him.)

He had to wake up. Jesus Christ, he had to _“Wake up, Jethro.”_.

He had to let go (of something, he wasn't sure what, though - he wasn't sure if it was what he loved or what he wanted or what he'd killed or what he'd lost and he wasn't sure if he'd ever really figure it out or not).

He had to -

“Hey.” She looked... almost frightened, a margin more than concerned as she pressed a palm flat into his chest. “Stop. You're dreaming.”

She was sitting up with him, strangely tangled between twisting sheets and the sweat that was full down the front of him. Her hand was wiping it from his collarbone as she searched over him with a look that was full confusion and concern. There'd been no warning to her, he knew. She'd been lulled into the fact that he had no problem curling her up in some kind of safety and now she was the one that needed to be strong. She was the one waiting out the result of too many swallowed emotions. Dark eyes roved his face as her other hand pressed the mattress at his side, her head shaking slowly back and forth.

“It was just a dream.”

“I'm the murderer.” He negated the softness of her attempt to calm him, glaring into how gentle she was being as he looked down the naked front of her. “Not you.”

Kate's head tipped slowly, her eyes still just as dark but now more aware, wary and maybe more understanding as she wiped against the sweat that had chilled his shoulder. “Thought this discussion was over.”

“I can't tell you.” His glance seemed focused on the dark length of her hair and blankly glazed at once. “Not everything. Not yet.”

Her fingers spanned his chest, thumb finding the ridge of a scar and rubbing there. “Classified?”

“Personal.”

Her jaw lifted stubbornly in the dark, as though she was partially offended, a pang of hurt wincing across her pretty face as she trailed her fingertips down against his stomach and pressed deep. “This is personal, Jethro.”

“I'm trying, Kate.” He roughed his hand over his face, ignoring the fact that his tone was so shredded thin, so gasping it was close to desperate.

And she seemed to know it, seemed to understand how choked he was by his own lungs and the inability to speak in a language that was, to both of them, first learned.

“I know.” The hurt was still there, marginally so, but she shrugged it off slowly. “You say enough.”

Blue eyes met the broken mirror mottle of hers and he just shook his head, speechless.

Kate nodded again, trying to convince them both with a whisper, “You do.”


	5. Chapter Five

It had been a surprise that she'd woken before him, but not unheard of, really, and especially on a day off. The smell of strongly brewing coffee was wending its way up the stairs though and he banked back flat onto the mattress, stretching his bare shoulders into it as he listened for sounds from the kitchen. It was quiet, no movements, no sounds.

She coulda gone for a run. She tended to outrun her frustration with him whenever he bottled up on her, lace on her running shoes and get the hell out for awhile. She'd always circled back relatively quickly, make it a few blocks around and aim her way right back into his stubbornness. She'd wait it out with some previously untapped cache of patience, wiping sweat off her face as she met his eyes with a newly gentled look. He couldn't imagine the conversations she had with herself while she was jogging but, hell, he wasn't gonna question them so long as she kept making herself turn back toward the house.

The house he was pretty sure he'd demanded she move into...

That was... sorta embarrassing. Still, it wasn't like she'd flat out refused.

In fact her response had been anything but negative and especially when she'd moaned near loud enough for the little Italian octogenarian next door to hear.

But he didn't think... she wouldn't leave the house without telling him. Not after the ins and outs of the night before. Not after he'd dragged her below him on the mattress as he'd rubbed his face between her breasts, grasping for some sort of comfort back. Searching back for what he'd given her hours before– she wouldn't have just left without telling him. Not after she'd hummed such a gently made sound of endearment along his ear and started fingertips circling on his temples until he'd fallen into a stuttered half sleep with his face pillowed between her breasts.

Not if she'd obviously made coffee and... toast? Wheat toast?

Christ, the woman had the weirdest love affair with _wheat-and-multi-grain-everything_.

The coffee smell was teasing at him nearly as much as his curiosity and it didn't take all that much longer for him to shrug from the sheets and the thin throw blanket she tended to keep lingering along the base of the bed for when he was brooding at his boat and she needed a source of heat that wasn't him. She'd brought it from her apartment, looking flustered and completely embarrassed when she'd first tagged it around herself on the couch, her widened up eyes following him from across the room as though she were waiting for a reaction. He'd just dropped his weight onto the couch beside her and enjoyed the smell of her laundry soap instead of saying anything at all.

He was still staring the blanket down with a quirked smile as he pulled on a pair of sweats and scrubbed his hands through his hair. Bathroom, kitchen, coffee, and somewhere in the house was his Katya - just couldn't pin down exactly where yet.

Except, he didn't need to do much reconnaissance to know where he thought she probably was.

He had a pretty damn good idea.

 

* * *

 

 

“You still wanna go?” He asked as he slowly took the steps, one at a lazy time and coffee in hand.

She'd moved the table herself, shifted it so its back was flush to the end of the workbench. Her straightly lined back was turned in his direction and the angle her neck was tipping her head in seemed so stark that he figured she'd ache from it later. He enjoyed the figure of her as he finished the last few steps, moving slowly in her direction as he took in the tank and the boxers that had been missing from his floor when he'd woken up. Her legs were crossed up in the seat and he could see the twitchy bounce of one socked foot as her head straightened again, her hand lifting back against the paper. He noted the half emptied cup of coffee and the half eaten toast perched on the flat side of the table, her right hand sweeping long and bold lines along paper. Her hair was tipping a river of dark down over one shoulder and his fingers burned itching against his mug to reach for it.

“You don't have to, Gibbs,” she murmured it quietly to the paper, her voice controlled by acceptance and a sort of focused numbness. No bitterness or accusation, just a slight inattention as she made a frustrated noise in her throat and deepened a line farther curving.

He'd sorta figured that he wouldn't exist for awhile when she finally found herself comfortable in that chair.

Watching her was more than worth her obvious lack of attention, though.

Especially as she seemed so curled and comfortably an extension of the table itself.

“Sweetheart, I'll go where you wanna go.” Gibbs shrugged it off as he continued his steps past her, snagging the last half of her forgotten toast on his way by and stuffing it in his mouth, hunger having him chew quickly on the wheat and raspberry jam combination. “Just don't expect me to convert, huh?”

“Sure you don't wanna consider it?” Her head tipped aside from the lift of the angled board and he let himself sink onto his own stool at how adorably sleep-mussed but bright eyed she seemed. “My mother frowns upon Protestants, most often over a Bloody Mary while passively aggressively reminding me how much of a disappointment I am.”

He blankly chewed past the mention of her mother, swallowing hard on a shrug before he popped the last bit in his mouth.

“Yeah? Bloody Mary wasn't so keen on us heathens either.” Gibbs downed the last swallow with a gulp of the coffee she'd made ridiculously strong on his behalf, trying not to smirk into the way one of her brows arched into his sarcasm. “I don't share a bed with your mother.”

Kate rolled her eyes before disappearing back into her drawing, her hair still visible and leading him leaning to the right to catch sight of her profile as she squinted back over the drawing. “Frankly, I'm not even sure my father shares a bed with my mother anymore. Catholics don't get divorced, they just stop having sex with each other.”

He chuckled at the dry tone she'd used, letting his spine relax as he continued proudly watching how entranced she actually was. “You're not winning me over here, Katie.”

“I like you the way you are.” Her head shook starkly as she leaned away from the paper and frowned at, no doubt, some minuscule detail that was offending her perfectionism. “Which is why you don't have to go. I'm fine.”

“Kate,” the hush of his tone, intentionally warm, drew her jaw up even though she didn't look back in his direction. “I'll go where you wanna go. Okay?”

She didn't turn from what she was doing but the delicate smile she aimed over the paper was appropriately smug as she shrugged. “Okay.”

 

* * *

 

 

 

He'd at least been somewhat apologetic in telling her that he had to go, that he'd gotten called back to an investigation while she'd been chatting with one of the clergy members. There'd been a softness in his voice that seemed reverent as he'd dipped his head closer to hers and stroked two fingers down the side of her dress, respectfully drawing her away. And it had caused her fingers to unconsciously lift and rub against the well cut suit jacket as she leaned a nod of acceptance in his direction, her other hand waving toward the large doors.

“I'm ready.” She agreed into his quiet.

Gibbs skiffed a dry look over her gentleness, waving toward the confessional, “You didn't - ”

“I can come back.” She just nodded as she leaned into him, letting her body angle against his arm. “It... I'll come back. I wanna check in on Cassie.”

“She shouldn't be there.”

“She's there.” She murmured it back quietly into him, her face skeptical as she met his eyes. “You wanna place bets?”

“I'm not gambling with you today, Katya. You've got that... predatory look.”

She smiled into his shoulder, unfazed and bemused by his teasing as she tucked closer along his arm and wrapped curling around it. There was something simply comforting about the strong warmth of him as she closed her eyes into the fabric of his suit and let him lead her toward the doors at the back of the sanctuary. His lips brushed against her hair as he trapped her still, though. Her head lifted into the way he gently untucked her hands from his arm, extricating himself slowly as she watched with a tipped glance of confusion.

Kate followed the slow turning steps of his body, silently followed how tightly tacked up his shoulders were in the suit jacket as he closed the space between himself and the memorial candles that were tucked off to the side of the back of the sanctuary. She paused her steps, letting her head tip farther as he seemingly ignored her presence and lit two of the small votives.

The look he gave her when his head lifted was oddly perplexed, like he'd startled into realizing what he'd even done and the very fact he'd done it in front of her. Kate lifted her hand enough to stretch her fingers in his direction, a pleading palm turned downward as he moved back toward her with an unreadable look on his face.

His thumb was rubbing her knuckles as she tipped a whisper forward. “Who were those for?”

He looked up at her like she was both his most trusted and his devastation at once and she wasn't at all prepared for how searchingly accusatory and desperate it seemed within the same moment.

He seemed utterly lost and rattled but stalwart all at once.

And his voice, when he finally spoke, was flat, “My daughter.”

His... _what_? “You don't...”

_Oh, God..._

He was as far from himself as she thought was likely possible. Because his eyes had gone hardened dark and his jaw seemed slack but tight at once. The blank of his features was, undoubtedly, rehearsed and practiced and some intentional safety, a place wherein he kept himself separate from feeling anything beside a complete numbing.

He was still so undoubtedly strong to her, even as he was righteously weak before her.

Her entire body sank a little as her shoulders dropped and her fingers traced the back of his hand with a cautious pressure. “Gibbs.”

He shook his head at her, like negating the sympathetic pain of her wide eyed reaction would negate the reality of the truth existing between them.

_“I can't tell you. Not everything. Not yet.”_

She felt a sympathetic noise rise up her throat, “Jethro.”

“My wife,” his voice was dusted dry as he swallowed and tugged at her sleeve, intently dragging her toward the door as he avoided her searching glance, “and my daughter.”

“Okay.” Kate curled her fingers back into his sleeve, gripping tightly into the fabric as she tried to swallow and failed miserably, laying a hushed whisper against his upper arm. “Hey... you say enough. Okay?”

He didn't answer her - not that she'd really actually expected him to say anything more, say anything much at all.

But he also didn't push her away - and maybe, with that much truth between them, his silence was as necessary to her as it was to him.

 

* * *

 

 

“You're back!!” Abby's voice rose up over every desk in the squad room and Kate suppressed a laugh at how far back Tony had to jerk his head as the other woman clapped her hands together near his face. “Kate's back!”

And the entire department had now been informed of it.

She wasn't sure the entire Navy Yard hadn't heard that.

“It's only been a couple weeks, Abs.” She tried to swallow and found it suddenly hard to get oxygen down into her lungs as the scientist crushed her into an excited hug, her fingers getting an equally tight squeeze from his before he loosened away from the both of them and headed for his desk.

“You look pretty.” Abby surmised (or possibly accused) as she tipped a glance down Kate's front, her eyes thinning in a squint as her lips went pert in smiling. “Where were you guys?”

“You do look pretty suave there, Hugo Boss.” Tony gave a subtle wink of a greeting in her direction, his butt rested lazily into the front of his desk as he waved after Gibbs. “We interrupt something important?”

“Your job important to you, DiNozzo?”

Tony was still looking at Kate, sharing a patient half smile with her as he shrugged and then turned his head in Gibbs' direction. “Sorta, yeah.”

Gibbs just hummed a grated noise into the air, already shifting the entirety of his focus to his work. “Wanna get back to it then?”

Tony flashed Kate a brief and cheeky grin with an exaggerated shrug before pushing broadly off the desk and letting his body aim toward the other man's. The remote for the plasma screen was already nabbed up in his hand as he followed after Gibbs. “Sure.”

She turned her head after him, trapped up by the sullenly still way the older man was watching her from across the space of the desks. He nodded once (as though he only needed the one shift to say everything) when she sought out the color of his eyes and she saw how hard the swallow went down his throat before he turned safely into his work.


End file.
